


at capacity

by kaermorons



Series: Witcher Bingo Card~ [7]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fisting, M/M, Medical Kink, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26277811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: “You gonna play healer with me again, like we’re kids?” Lambert teased.A continuation ofthis fic, Lambert and Eskel get to play doctor when they have a few days alone in Kaer Morhen. Can be read as a sequel or a standalone.
Relationships: Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher)
Series: Witcher Bingo Card~ [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828993
Comments: 15
Kudos: 80





	at capacity

**Author's Note:**

> This is my free space in bingo!! Also this is for everyone wanting to see medical play in the previous fic. Never written fisting OR medical kink, so like. Yeah. Idk man. alsjdfljksdjf

“We’re going hunting. Be back in a few days. Don’t drive Eskel mad.”

Lambert squawks in mock-outrage. “Hope you’re telling him the same!” He’d broken his fucking arm in training a few days ago, and was tired of being babied, especially up here at Kaer Morhen. He huffs again in a frustrated sound and strains his ears to listen for Geralt and Vesemir’s footsteps to trail away down the corridor. The moment they walk through the courtyard, Lambert’s grinning and turning to the door, where Eskel is already leaning against the frame, inspecting his hands.

“So.”

“So.”

* * *

After their third round in bed, they take some time to clean up, washing down the sheets and letting them dry. They switch to Eskel’s room to rest for the evening. “How’s the arm?”

“Ask again and I’ll show you how it feels,” Lambert grumbles into the pillow, too pleased with Eskel’s warm weight above him to move. He gets a kiss to his shoulder for his troubles.

“Fair. You need another dose soon?” Lambert shakes his head. “Maybe we can...hm.”

Lambert rolls over as much as he can with his arm still sore. “What. Maybe we can what.”

“Do you remember...in the closet.”

“Uh, yeah you’d have to kill me to get me to forget that.” Lambert meets Eskel’s eyes. He’s nervous, Lambert realizes. “Hey, you can tell me.”

“You said something about...playing healer again? Like when we were kids?” Lambert grins at Eskel’s hesitant tone.

“Ye-es,” he drawls. “I remember that. You want to get all doctored up by me, Eskel?” He’s leering, but knows Eskel can take it. He wouldn’t be with the insufferable bastard if he couldn’t.

“Shut up. And no. I...I was hoping I could take care of you?” They hold their breath as Lambert thinks it over.

“You wanna take care of me?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, it’s just been...it’s been on my mind, alright? It’s been getting me hard so fucking often I can’t even walk right some days.” Eskel huffs a sigh, though his scent is relieved that Lambert wouldn’t make fun of him for his wants. Between them was a fair handful of kinks and bedroom proclivities that could make a whore blush.

“What all would you want to do?”

* * *

They talk into the night, negotiating, throwing out ideas and things to try. Lambert’s arm’s almost completely healed, and they want to be careful, but the reality tying in with their fantasy distracts them to several flustered handjobs throughout the night. In the morning, all planned out, they eat breakfast quietly, not needing to speak. Their heated glances say enough.

After, Eskel takes their bowls to wash, moving methodically, refusing Lambert’s help. Lambert goes to take another small dose of Swallow, but Eskel stops him. “I...would you mind if we saved it for…?” He can’t speak aloud his meaning, but Lambert sees the fiery desire in his eyes.

“Of course. Just not long. Still aching a bit.” Eskel nods and washes up, drying his hands. “I’ll meet you in the room?”

“Hm.”

* * *

They’d designated a room in the keep, close enough to the main wings that it’s not fucking  _ freezing _ but far-enough removed to not spark any other familiarity. Lambert walks in and undresses, as is the plan. He changes into a pair of thin trousers and a linen shirt, leaving his feet bare on the rug. Eskel wants him to sit down on the low table they’ve covered in furs and blankets, and the effect is rather disconcerting. Spurred on by their intense interest, they’d scrubbed the stone floors and walls as much as they could have, and even lit some pine candles to mask the heavy cedar scent of Kaer Morhen. The effect works instantly, and Lambert is shifting in his seat after just a few minutes of waiting.

He sees the dose of Swallow laid out carefully on another wood table, held on a metal tray with some other strange implements he isn’t too sure where Eskel pulled them out from. They weren’t going to use any items from the Trials, that’d certainly kill the mood. Eskel probably paid money for them, several look very shiny and well-made. That probably means…

_ Eskel’s  _ really _ wanted to try this for awhile. _

The thought of Eskel spending his own hard-earned coin to possibly,  _ possibly _ have the chance to play out this fantasy makes Lambert’s mouth go dry, and a shiver run down his spine. The thin linen pants are much finer made than Eskel had acted like, so thin he can clearly see the outline of his dick, already filling just thinking about this whole situation.

He doesn’t have time to inspect the items on the tray closer before there’s a knock at the door, and Eskel’s head peeking in. He—oh gods, he’s wearing a  _ mask, _ a simple black cloth covering his nose and mouth how he’s seen some of the doctors in the larger cities do. “You ready for me?” Eskel asks, and Lambert now sees his hair is combed back out of his face, the mask covering up some of the scars. His bright amber eyes are emphasized more starkly by the dark fabric over his mouth.

“Y-yes,” Lambert squeaks a little before clearing his throat, remembering the barebones script. “Yes, I’m ready, doctor.” Eskel opens the door, revealing the same loose, unembellished linens as Lambert’s, though his are a deep gray. He has on a pair of black boots, shined to a gleam. He looks like a complete stranger, and it makes the whole roleplay that much more interesting.

“Oh good, I see you’ve found the clothes laid out for you.” Eskel doesn’t even fucking look at him as he goes over to the desk with a few books on it, medical texts plucked from the library carefully by candlelight.

_ Of course I saw them, you told me— _ Lambert’s sassy monologue shuts off, remembering the  _ script. _ He stays quiet unless asked a question, an interesting form of restraint for the Witcher.

“I was told you’d broken your arm?” Eskel asks, his voice even and not nearly like the panicked shout he’d given when Lambert had crashed into the ground from the scaffolding. Lambert had never seen Eskel that pale in all his life. But now, they were strangers. Eskel was “doctor” and Lambert was “you”.

“Yes, it’s almost healed but I wanted you to check it out. I mean. Fuck. Is it examine it?” Lambert is getting too turned on, he can’t believe he forgot the easy fucking script. Eskel’s there in a flash at his frustrated sigh, pulling the mask down beneath his chin and putting his hands on his thighs. “I keep fucking this up,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Lambert, you’re not fucking  _ anything _ up,” Eskel says, bringing his hands up to gently cup his face. His hands smelled like the distilled alcohol they used to sanitize their hands for cuts and injuries. “You’re doing great. I love seeing you like this. You could swear and cuss at me and I’d still be happy you tried. We could go upstairs and act like this never happened if you want.” His earnestness makes Lambert tug him forward for a kiss.

“Just don’t wanna mess this up for you. Wanna make you happy.” Lambert closes his eyes and rests their foreheads together.

“You do. I promise. Do you want to continue or wrap it up?” He’s entirely serious, looking him in the eye.

“Let’s keep going. Just. Gods, you’re already melting my brains out looking like that.” At Lambert’s nervous laugh Eskel’s eyes darken, and looks up, grinning like a devil.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He tugs the mask back up his face and walks back, the feeling of his warm hands still burning through the linens. “How’d you break it?” His voice snaps back to the neutral interest of before.

“Fell on it when I was working on a scaffold. Well. After I fell off the scaffold. Could’ve been worse.” Eskel turns, a piece of parchment on a slate in his hands.

“I’m sure it could have, but hard labor can really hurt you if you’re not more careful. A fall like that a few inches back here,” Eskel gently touches the back of Lambert’s arm, making his breath catch. “You could have broken your shoulder. Up here,” he touches his chest with two fingers again, the same ultra-gentle tap. “Could’ve broken a few ribs. Can I test your range of motion?”

“I uh,” Lambert takes a few steadying breaths. The evidence of how much this is affecting him is clear to see, but Eskel ignores it, his eyes still locked intensely on Lambert’s. “Yes.”

“Good, now just relax and I’ll check to see if you’re otherwise injured. Falls are a mess of hidden hurts.” Lambert nods, and Eskel takes his right forearm.

“That’s not the hurt one, though,” Lambert says, confused.

“I have to get a baseline before I test the rest,” Eskel says, moving his body this way and that, easily able to do so with his Witcher strength, but Lambert is sure that even without that, he would have submitted to the authority Eskel carries with him. “Roll this shoulder forward twice for me?” Eskel’s eyes burn holes in the linen shirt as he does so. “Could you touch the tip of your thumb to each of your fingers, like this?” He demonstrates, and Lambert holds his arm up, as transfixed by the obedient action as Eskel is. “Good.”

That one word, praise for such a minimal thing as touching his fingers together, draws an unexpected moan out of Lambert. He claps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide as he looks up at Eskel. Eskel’s eyes are more black than amber, now, and his own interest shows. “That’s alright,” he says softly. “May I touch your other arm?”

“Y-yes please. Doctor. Yeah.” Lambert drops his right hand to his lap and takes a shuddering breath. Gods, this is a lot more than he’d expected. Eskel repeats the same motions, albeit a little more carefully. When he bends Lambert’s arm back and forth, he makes a humming noise, a frown forming between his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I think I might have to expand my examination. Please hold still, I’m going to touch you.” Lambert nods and looks forward, feeling Eskel’s hands rest heavily on his shoulders before his fingers walk carefully up the sides of his neck, palpating as he goes. He swallows reflexively under Eskel’s touch, and shudders when his hands reach his face, walking up his jaw to just under his ears. “Can you hear this?” Eskel rubs the pads of his fingers together, and it’s soft, but Lambert nods, at his mercy. The scent of the disinfectant comes back in full force. “Good.” Lambert bites down on another moan, but he can see Eskel’s smirk even behind the thick mask. “Nasty gash up here, too. You hit your head too when you fell?”

“I uh, yeah, I think. I think so. It happened so fast, you know.” Eskel hums and nods, gently moving Lambert’s hair back and forth to get a better view of the wound.

“Any headaches, dizziness, nausea, forgetfulness?”

“I mean, I’m pushing ninety, I forget shit all the time. But um. No more than normal, I suppose.” Eskel’s eyes shine with amusement, but he nods.

“Might rule out a concussion. You’ve been blessed with a thick skull, it seems.” Lambert grins at him for a moment, the facade breaking, before kicking his leg lightly and schooling his face into one of seriousness. “While I’m up here, I better check your eyes and throat.”

Eskel goes to the desk shortly and returns holding a small metal implement, kind of shaped like a slim, flat spoon. “Use this to cover one of your eyes, and look at the wall. How many bricks up does the light go for you?” Eskel watches him counting, keeping close. Lambert can feel the soft breaths against his neck, distracting him as he stutters out a number. “Hm,” Eskel says, soft again. “Try with the other eye, take a second to adjust.”

Lambert wants to impress him, do well. He grunts and shifts in his seat, putting the weird spoon over his other eye. Except now, his eye closest to Eskel is free, and in his peripherals, he can catch the barest glint of expression, the light bouncing off of his eyes. “There’s no wrong answer, Lambert,” he whispers.

It doesn’t quite help.

Lambert gives another number, nervous now. Eskel takes the instrument back and nods, jotting down a few notes on his paper quietly before looking back at Lambert. “Open your mouth?” Lambert complies, always willing to give Eskel his mouth. Eskel peers close, inspecting his teeth with a sweeping gaze. Lambert’s about to close his mouth when Eskel’s hand shoots up, grabbing his jaw between his thumb and four fingers. Lambert makes a startled noise and grabs the edge of the table, trying his best to stay still. His eyes are wide and wild, but Eskel’s not looking, he’s trying to get his best look down his throat. It lasts barely a minute, breathing heavily with Eskel’s thumb depressing his tongue, but Lambert’s almost drooling by the time he’s allowed to close his mouth.

He’d initially been reluctant to try this, not quite understanding the power dynamic of the roleplay. Eskel likes to be possessive and controlling in bed, more interested in getting Lambert wrung dry of all pleasure before taking his. That notion is dispelled rather quickly after the oral examination.

Eskel pulls back, writing on the parchment with steady hands. Gods, his thumb is still wet with his spit. Lambert swallows again and squirms on the table. “I’d like to test your range of motion in your legs, now. Any hip or leg pain since the fall?”

“N-no more than normal, doctor,” Lambert says breathily. “How do you want me?”

Eskel’s heated gaze tells Lambert the truth is probably  _ in every way you can imagine, _ but he says, “On your back. You just relax on the table, I’ll move you around. Anything hurts, you tell me.”

“Okay.”

Lambert looks up at the stone ceiling, trying to fucking breathe again. Eskel gently rotates his foot around his ankle, testing the flexibility in his toes, before moving to bend his knee up toward his chest. The stretch reminds Lambert of a very fresh bruise Eskel left on his thigh last night, and his breath catches again. A half-choked moan stops in his mouth when Eskel’s hand comes up and squeezes at the muscles, testing for any tightness or pain.

“That hurt?” Eskel says, stopping. His eyes smirk where his mouth can’t. Lambert shakes his head. “Alright.” Eskel continues, touching him goddamned  _ everywhere. _ Were Lambert seventy years younger, he would be making a rather large mess in his pants by now. He’s well on his way to doing that right now. “Other leg,” Eskel says softly, switching sides. Lambert breathes easier, knowing what’s coming. Eskel holds the leg up, touching him just the same way, as methodical and impersonal as before. It’s driving Lambert crazy. When both his legs are on the table, he looks up at Eskel.

“I might need to do one more test, if that’s alright with you. I want to get you a pain aid first, though, you’re a little flushed.” Eskel holds the back of his hand to Lambert’s forehead, testing his temperature. Lambert is made aware that his arm is aching a little more.

“Please.”

Eskel measures Swallow out of the vial on the desk, bringing it over with no preamble. “All down, if you please.”

“Thank you,” Lambert says, pouring it down his throat and letting the hot feeling burn through his system, leaving him a little floaty and pain-free. His arm throbs, but not in the same ache as before. He shudders and sighs in relief, glad for the reprieve. Eskel rubs his back soothingly, knowing the shock of feeling could be a lot, compared to the minimal contact of before. He nods when the uncomfortable feeling passes, and Eskel moves back. “One more test?”

“Yes, it can be uncomfortable, but I want to test your capacity.”

There’s a hard, stomach-dropping beat.

_ “Capacity?” _

He can never say no to Eskel, not when he’s holding a  _ bottle of their bedroom oil _ like that. He gulps and nods. Eskel directs him off of the table, the cool floor a grounding feeling under his hot skin. Lambert lays on his front, bent over the table with his legs spread. There’s absolutely nowhere else this is going to go, especially seeing as they fucking  _ talked _ about this for hours the night before. It’s new, it’s exciting, it’s breathtaking and Lambert needs to take a fucking  _ breath _ or he’s going to pass out before Eskel gets his—

“This might be easier out of your trousers,” Eskel says, reaching around to pluck at the drawstring holding them around Lambert’s hips. At this position, Lambert can feel the heavy, hot press of Eskel’s cock against his ass, and he has to gnaw on his lip not to rock back against him. “There. Step?” He’s losing his mind with want, he blacked out in want for a second, there.

Lambert steps out of them on shaky legs. “W-what do I have to do?”

“Just relax. I’m going to start with two fingers and see how far we can get. Tell me to stop and I will, alright?” Lambert nods again and presses his face against the table, his whole body hypercharged with nervous energy. Not being able to see Eskel is part of it, hearing the familiar noise of the cork in the bottle coming out, being set aside. They’d need more as they went.

Eskel lays a hand over the small of his back a few scant seconds before pushing two firm, unrelenting fingers into his ass. Lambert makes a very, very undignified noise in the back of his throat and tries not to let his whole body seize up and clamp down on them. Eskel’s thumb rubs in gentle circles on his back while his fingers push deeper, down to the first knuckle. They remain straight the whole time, probing around inside his ass like he didn’t already fucking know where his prostate was. They’re seeming to purposely avoid that spot inside him, however, and Lambert’s melted brain pours back in his ears the second Eskel starts to scissor his fingers wider, stretching him with brutal efficiency.

“Doing great, Lambert, just get comfortable and relax. You’ve done  _ so _ well for me so far.” Lambert can only answer in a moan, mindless with pleasure and want. His moans are no longer held back by his grasping at propriety, at saving face in front of a stranger.

Two becomes three with a little more oil, the squelch in his ass becoming godsdamned  _ filthy. _ His hips rock back on Eskel’s fingers a little before the hand on the small of his back shifts, a firm squeeze at his hip. “It’s important you don’t try to rush things.” Lambert bites off a frustrated moan, wanting more, wanting that stretch and burn Eskel likes to tease him with. He nods in acquiescence and takes a fortifying breath, his hands balling into fists before gripping the far end of the table. “Good. Good. You think you can take four?” Eskel asks, his fingers rotating in such a way Lambert’s eyes roll back. “I think you can take at least four.”

“Four,” Lambert chokes out, nodding. He’s shaking and sweating, fighting to keep his lungs working. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” Eskel says, easy as ever, the same way he spoke at the start of this all. More oil is added to his ass,  _ poured in _ like a fucking wine decanter, like he’s made to be filled like this. Lambert shudders at the slosh low in his guts. He whines behind his lips. Eskel’s pinky comes into the picture, and the thing is, Eskel’s hands are fucking  _ broad _ and  _ long, _ just as beefy and thick as the rest of him. Lambert keens and shakes in his efforts to relax and stay still. His dick is leaking onto the stone floor, and with the intensity of it all, Lambert’s heightened senses can hear each little needy drop.

“Fuck,” Lambert chokes out when Eskel starts to pump those four fingers into him. Near the span of his knuckles, he’s wider, and it makes his rim stretch deliciously, the feeling ratcheting up Lambert’s heart rate each time it gets close to breaching.

“More?” Eskel asks, his voice shaking a little bit. It’s the first crack in his demeanor he didn’t mean to make, which drives Lambert wild. The Swallow is countering most of the discomfort, and would continue to do so for a good while, long enough for…

“More!” Lambert pleads, reduced to shivering moans when Eskel’s knuckles breach him fully, half his hand pushed in, his body taking it as well as it can. His thighs shake with the effort of standing, but he’d do it for longer if it meant…

“More.” Eskel pulls his hand back and drizzles more oil over his hand. The backs of Lambert’s thighs are absolutely soaked, the oil mixing with his precome all over the floor. “Relax. Come on, love, relax for me.” Eskel’s murmurs, the shattered scene, they both ground him as the floor once had, and Lambert forces his muscles to untense, settling in for the final push.

Eskel’s fingers enter first, spreading him easy, but then there’s the thumb, that’s the thumb, oh fuck, that’s Eskel’s  _ thumb, _ that’s his  _ hand, _ his hand is inside—

“Eskel!” Lambert cries out, shuddering helplessly at the feeling of intense fullness. He can feel Eskel in every shred of him, screaming in every nerve as his rim clamps down around Eskel’s thick wrist, easy to do with all of the prep involved.

“Ffffuck, Lambert, gods,” Eskel curses, breathless with wonder, with awe, with lust. “You okay?”

“Ye-es,” his voice cracks on the word, his chest heaving for breath at the intensity. “N-not gonna last. I’m. I’m gonna.”

“I can take it out—”

“No! In me, please please…”

“Okay, okay. Come for me, love.” Eskel reaches down to wrap a hand around Lambert’s aching cock, and that’s all it takes for him to come as commanded.

Lambert screams into the room, his voice echoing out several halls over, sounding like he’s dying at the stimulation. Eskel cries out too, finding his release, untouched, but in the sheer feeling of Lambert’s body clenching down around his hand. It’s some time before either of them have the wherewithal to focus through the afterglow.

Eskel pulls his hand out of Lambert with a sharp hiss that makes them both freeze.

“Oh fuck.”

“Fuck.”

* * *

Two days later, Geralt and Vesemir return, camp-rough and laden with their kills. When only Lambert comes out to help load things into the kitchen, they ask where Eskel is. The man himself comes out, his arm in a sling. Lambert’s face is beet-red as Geralt sighs.

“We were gone three days, how did you break your wrist?”

“Lambert’s fault.”


End file.
